Traitor Princess
by Cher A. and Brittany S
Summary: Xenia, a Drémeadow fugitive with thousands in gold on her head for "conspiracy against the Crown," has evaded capture for half a decade. When the wanted halfling visits the aptly-named Traitor's Festival for food, she encounters an unexpected pair that incites her to confront her dark past and inner demons.
1. Traitor's Festival

Xenia stared ruefully into the larder that towered nearly two feet above her head. The chestnut shelves told her brunch would be impossible unless she left the house and went to one of the markets in the area. The contents amounted to barely two slices of bread, a jar of tea leaves, ale and a tiny serving of dried blueberries but otherwise it was empty space.

It had been positively dismal the past few March days, with thunderstorms scattered amid drizzle, fog and torrential downpours- exactly the type of weather no hobbit would want to be out in. It had kept her confined to the room she rented for the better part of a week, not leaving for anything but the privy, barring one occasion. Xenia had made a failed attempt to procure food two days ago that had ended with her sloshing as fast as she could through the mud back to the doorstep to escape an abrupt downpour. Xenia had encountered her seldom-seen roommate and the owner of the house when reentering, but the elf had not talked to her. He never did unless absolutely necessary.

That was the best thing about the elf. In Xenia's opinion, the tenant-landlord relation far surpassed her wildest hopes. Not only was he perfectly willing to permit her to rent a room without a lease or any idea of when she might leave but he did not even demand a name! Back when the hobbit answered his resplendent "Room for Rent" sign, she'd been prepared to introduce herself as Daria Goodlett. The taciturn elf had shaken his head. "I didn't ask yours," he'd reproached. That reply had piqued Xenia's suspicions, but then the hobbit had remembered her own circumstances. Considering she herself wished to conceal her identity, it would be outrageously hypocritical of her to pressure others to divulge their name. That in mind, she'd decided the reticent elf could keep his secrets. Keep his secrets the proprietor did. They were well-guarded under lock and key like her life before leaving Drémeadow never to return.

Xenia raked her hand through her loosely curled dark hair, mulling her quandary over. She might be in brown hose and a grey tunic instead of her nightgown, the halfling thought, but she was in no mood to get wet. The hobbit moved to the single window in the room and ran her hand along the dusty pane, blackening her palm. Wrinkling her nose, Xenia rubbed her hands with the rust-colored rag on the windowsill, contemplating the sky. No longer did it have an ominous black color. She could not see lightning in the distance, although her sight was partially obscured by other buildings in the city rising up as high as three and, incredibly, four stories. In one brightened area weak beams of sunlight permeated the clouds enough to illuminate the sky. It was the most hopeful the sky had looked in days even if the sun's rays had yet to reach the ground.

"Groceries, then." Xenia moved towards the mirror to check her hair and clothing. Instead, she noticed her face. Frowning, she ran a finger along the faint lines in her forehead. Were they deeper than yesterday? And was it her imagination, or were her cheeks beginning to sag?

_Leave it_, a voice in her mind chastised. _You're merely worried about looking old because you'll be thirty next year._ _So old you have to stop having fun like when you're twenty-something, get married and have children._ Xenia shuddered at the thought. Childbearing disturbingly resembled torture. She'd never forget the anguished cries of her mother first at six with Odo's birth, then nearly ten with Folco. Thank goodness it seemed, given the way her life had gone, she would never have to worry about it. As a wanted criminal it was impossible to make friends let alone court a potential husband. Subjecting theoretical children to the constant fear of capture would be nothing short of cruel. Children deserved better than the exile lifestyle.

She was nearly out the door when she remembered it was Wednesday. Xenia seized a nondescript badge from her dresser, affixing it to her dark gray cloak for the Traitor's Festival. That badge guaranteed a discount from all vendors who bore the same badge. Even though the hobbit, unbeknownst to others, had far more money on her person and in this room than all but the richest echelon of the Simillioran city of Dolingdarrow, she had to account for decades of life ahead. Prudence demanded the discount.

Besides, appearing ordinary was of paramount importance. She had even taken various odd jobs despite never working a day of her life until settling in Simillior. The beauty of Dolingdarrow, one of five districts in a city largely occupied by elves and refugees from various lands, was that people kept out of each other's business. Furthermore, obscuring her face with her hood and occasionally wearing masks was not out of the ordinary. In fact, it was something of a fashion, a trend the hobbit gladly embraced. Dolingdarrow was where she lived the longest other than Drémeadow and that atrocious university in Rheeding she'd attended until her expulsion six years ago.

~*~*~  
Along her usual route to the town square, Xenia noticed to her discomfiture that there seemed to be even more hobbits than a few days ago. Fellow members of her race were the last people she felt safe seeing. Though none paid her heed, their mere presence terrified her. What were they doing so far from Drémeadow? Most of her race abhorred travel. Were they after her? Or perhaps somebody else? It was not as though she were the only fugitive her homeland sought, at least in recent weeks.

She paused at the signposts bearing Wanted posters from various places. Her eyes went first to a Drémeadow poster depicting a glum hobbit-woman with darkened bags shadowing melancholy golden-brown eyes, a wan complexion, frizzy chestnut curls, and untidy clothing. The words in biggest lettering read "Wanted for Conspiracy: Xenia Foxtrot."

Her height and general description had not changed. The Xenia depicted in the sketch was the same despondent version of herself she'd been half a decade ago. However, the reward for her capture had. A few weeks prior, the runaway had been dismayed to notice the amount of gold on her head had dropped from 15,000 gold pieces to merely 10,000. Today, it remained stagnant at 10,000.

The number of wanted Cancalian murderers had declined. There was Patricia Twomey, a glowering flaxen-haired woman from Bolingbarke, Cancalia, but the others had been removed.

Xenia's attention shifted to a faded Dremeadow flier that had appeared shortly after New Years'. This particular one had been an utter shock to Xenia's system. She had read it only because it bore the Drémeadow crest. "Wanted for the Assassination of Her Majesty the Queen Arabella: Kiran Mani." Twenty thousand gold was the prize for his capture.

To this day, Xenia remained astounded she had not done something like vomit learning of the death of her mother in such a manner. The assassin perplexed her. Kiran Mani, an olive skinned man with wavy shoulder-length brown hair, was smiling. Xenia wanted nothing more than to rip the smiling fugitive limb for limb when she first saw that. She and her parents undeniably had their differences. She'd been outraged by their response to her flight but she had never wanted either of them _dead._ Mani's kind-eyed face was as far from resembling how she envisioned a murderer as possible. Then again, appearances could be deceiving.

Xenia had never questioned whether Kiran Mani had been the culprit until the appearance of another Drémeadow Wanted poster. She had almost overlooked it because of the colors but recognized the shape and image. The abrupt change puzzled her. If the royal family had decided to change the national crest, why alter the colors and not the image? Why the eerie combination of sinister shades of green, silver and purple?

The contents of the poster troubled her even more than the unseemly colors. A lad in his late teens stared from the sketch. One dark-brown eye was swollen halfway shut; the other glowered defiantly at the unseen artist. Mottled bruises marred his jaw, cheeks and right temple, starkly contrasting pallid uninjured flesh. A line of crimson split distended lower lip asunder. What suspiciously resembled dry blood had congealed in matted golden-brown hair. "Wanted for Conspiracy in the Murder of Her Majesty the Queen: Folco Foxtrot."

Xenia gave the image of her battered little brother the usual anxious look, winding the string of her satchel between her fingers. She did not believe Folco had anything to do with her mother's death any more than she had when it first appeared. When Xenia first saw this poster just over a month, she'd literally dropped a basket of apples in shock, necessitating an awkward explanation her reaction as a recent hand injury to people nearby. _No… it cannot be. He would _not_ have done this_. She remembered Folco as sweet-natured, playful and sensitive. _The age isn't even right. He can't be nineteen. Nineteen-year-olds graduate upper school come September. Folco was just a U2 when I left. He was only fourteen. He can't be a U7. _Then Xenia did the math. She had been just twenty-four when she fled. Five years had passed. Fourteen and five was… nineteen! Seeing her youngest brother near the end of adolescence on a Wanted poster careworn, haggard and bruised, Xenia had felt very old indeed.

After a final brooding gaze between the colored sketches of her brother, the enigmatic Kiran Mani and herself, Xenia sighed and continued toward the marketplace.

When Xenia got to the town square, the first she noticed bearing the telltale badge announcing refugee-friendliness was an elf with a gold bar through the sharp point of his left ear and a single auburn braid ending at his waist with a fastening precisely matching the earring. Shuddering at the idea of voluntarily ramming a sharp object through her own ear, the hobbit approached to rifle through the various options. The elf beamed down upon her. "Good afternoon, miss," he said to her. "Please let me know if I can be of any assistance to you." He added under his breath, "I do not mean just my merchandise_._"

Xenia mumbled indistinctly under her breath, shifting aside an alarmingly blue block of cheese. She hoped this overly inquisitive elf would leave her alone and allow her to get on with her business. She filled a shopping basket with a block of cheese and several small bottles of coconut milk, the only kind Simillior offered. The elves, dwarves, gnomes and humans down this far south had never heard of cows or goats, it seemed.

After paying for her selection, Xenia proceeded to her favorite baker. The corpulent man was helping a fidgety badgeless gnome. The baker beamed at her. Xenia moved to the left side of the booth. Even though this human was here every week and she knew perfectly well the options he had, Xenia did not wish to conduct her own transaction until the gnome was at a safe distance.

Once the jittery customer had gone, the baker cast a look around the area, then swiveled his green eyes to her with a nod. She moved to the counter, resting her chin and left hand against its edge while fishing for her purse with her right. "Thank you for waiting," he said. "I am not particularly fond of awkward questions I get when people like the gnome notice people like you paying less."

She gave a terse chuckle. "Yes, well, I can wait if it means no unwanted attention over price differences."

Chuckling, the baker queried "the usual?" Xenia nodded, smiling. Not only was this baker among those who sought to make life easier for fugitives and refugees seeking asylum in Simillior, but he gave bigger loaves at the reduced price just so that those with badges marking them as outcasts would not have to emerge in public as often. Because of this, she was willing to forgive minor faults like his disregard of her race's preference for the term hobbits.

"You know, I've noticed a lot of halflings lately. You used to be the only one," commented the baker, laying loaves of barley, wheat and oat upon the counter and reaching underneath to extricate a sack of loose oats for porridge. "I wonder what brings them so far from Drémeadow… and what was that other place they sometimes live?"

"Rheeding," replied Xenia, rifling through her leather and silk purse. She withdrew a silver piece. "Here. Keep the change."

"Thank you." The man brushed a scraggly wisp of salt-and-pepper hair from his face. "You know, I have a long memory. You used to think it required gold just to buy a few loaves of bread! Are all halflings like that?"

"No, I just didn't know much about what stuff is supposed to cost." Recognizing dangerous territory, the fugitive awkwardly added, "I was a child whose parents sent… ah, paid for everything." She'd remembered, just in time, that most did not have servants shopping in their stead.

"Say no more, say no more," the baker chastised her. "I've asked too much, I think, and I seem to have another customer coming… good day, now, and see you next week."

Xenia walked past a badge-less dwarf to look for a butcher. She then passed a pair of hobbits. They looked ready to greet her. Xenia arranged her face into a scowl and averted her gaze. One made a disbelieving face to his friend, who shrugged dismissively. Neither, fortunately, said anything. A breath of relief escaped the former princess' lips.

As usual, there was not much meat Xenia considered acceptable fare. The elves, who were vegetarian themselves, offered meat only as a courtesy to other races. The trouble was, they knew little about the meat preferences of dwarves, gnomes, humans and hobbits. Coney was fine, but she for one would never touch dogs, lizards, snakes, frogs or rats unless she was choosing between those or death by starvation.

~*~*~!

After an hour, Xenia was ready to head home. Suddenly, a small figure sprinted right past her so closely that he nearly knocked her sack out of her hands. Startled, she jumped back a pace. The green-cloaked fellow, about her height or perhaps slightly taller, threw himself sideways between two buildings. Golden-brown curls protruded from his hood for a split-second before he disappeared from sight. At the same time, a human in a golden cloak bearing what she recognized as the symbols of Cancalia and Heironeous shot past her after the hobbit down the same alley.

Xenia stared indignantly. What was the human doing chasing someone half his size? Had the hobbit stolen something? Was he one of those bullying louts who derived pleasure from terrorizing smaller races? She felt tempted to investigate but ignored the impulse. It would have been her duty to intervene back home but it would do more harm than good now.

Two orcs appeared on the same trajectory as the fleeing hobbit and human. They wore the new green, silver and purple of Drémeadow. Her heart seized in terror as their yellow eyes fell upon her. One pointed; they both made to approach her. Xenia froze, blanching. Had they recognized her? It would do no good to flee now. It would only arouse more suspicion. What were orcs doing wearing Drémeadow uniforms anyway? How could orcs be working for them? Was her father out of his mind?

"Where did they go?" snarled one of the orcs, stopping slightly within arm's length. "The man and… child. Where are they?"

She did not dare let down her guard. Even though it seemed neither orc had recognized Xenia, she was afraid. "I'm sorry," she squeaked. She considered claiming to not know what they were talking about but their quarry's presence had been too obvious. "I saw them, but someone taller blocked me from seeing where they went." Even to her own ears her words sounded unconvincing

The other orc narrowed its cruel eyes. "Who blocked you?"

Heart sinking, she cast a quick glance around for a likely culprit. "Them." She pointed at the gnomes, praying silently that she had not just gotten them into trouble.

A third orc appeared. "I think they went that way." He pointed down an alley in the opposite direction. The other guards lunged toward where their comrade indicated.

When they'd gone from sight, Xenia's shoulders sagged in respite. Curiosity, however, overwhelmed her. It would be more prudent to go home but she needed to know what those orcs wanted with the human and slender hobbit. She inched toward the alley where the running pair had gone, ducking behind an empty barrel, setting the encumbering sack upon the ground, and listening hard.

Tense words broke the eerie silence. "I think they've gone."

"Thank goodness we got away!" replied a deep voice that could only belong to the human. No hobbit voice reached that low a pitch

The hobbit's voice snapped "no thanks to you! Calling all that attention to us! We're lucky we weren't caught!"

The man rejoindered apologetically, "well, we paladins aren't exactly known for our stealth.

"You idiot!" the hobbit snapped impatiently. "Well, we'd best be getting back before our good fortune runs out!" A broad human and tall, lanky hobbit materialized and passed by the barrel; she tensed her muscles. Once they were at a far enough distance that her presence would seem insignificant, she emerged to trail them.

Their path led the hobbit-woman to a pastry shop called the Bolingbarke Bakery that she had never visited before now. Xenia took an instant to wonder why this place was named after a major city of Cancalia before crossing the threshold. Her gold and green-cloaked objects of marvel were at the back of the shop conversing with the elf behind the counter. Head high, Xenia boldly traversed the large room to a display of elaborately adorned wooden cakes modeling the talent of the decorators near the counter in time to hear the man say "the Waste of Dré shall fade away." Xenia's jaw dropped. This human was familiar with the colloquial term Drémeadow hobbits used for the marred southeastern region that had been devastated in a baffling and cataclysmic attack fourteen years ago?

Her confusion intensified when the elf unlocked first the door blocking customer access to the area behind the counter, then the door leading to the back room, gesturing both into the employees-only area. While the elf reclosed the two entrances within the restricted area, Xenia noticed a door indicating that this shop was equipped with an indoor privy, a rare luxury. Enthralled at her luck, she slipped into the facility, locked the door and pressed her ear against the back wall.

There was a raspy voice clearly unaccustomed to whispering saying he'd made an important discovery, a chorus of excited murmurs and a few grumbles. After a span of time where Xenia's valiant efforts to gain more specific information than "new recruits," "orcs" and "we are still safe", footsteps faded into a direction that sounded as though it were beneath her feet. Did this stop have a cellar not immediately noticeable to those outside?

Presently, there were several knocks on the door, then a loud complaint. Xenia moved to the bowl of water, taking care to splash loudly so people waiting outside would assume she was washing her hands after doing lengthy business with the hollowed box over a hole in the ground. Half an hour after she'd disappeared into the privy, Xenia reemerged. Embarrassed to see a line of five awaiting the room she'd just vacated, the hobbit cast the teenage girl at front a contrite look before going to peruse the items for sale. She opted for half a dozen fruit tarts and held out a silver piece. The elf merchant shook his head. "It's on the house."

Xenia blinked. "Are you certain? I have no money troubles…"

"Indeed," said the elf, "so you can put that thing away and take these." He handed over a white box with a pink bow.

Without warning, the back door opened with a crash to reveal the human and hobbit from earlier. She could see a gleam of dark brown through the shadows of the hobbit's hood and a mask covering his face but the human's visage was fully obscured. "Thank you…" Xenia said to the elf as the pair came back to her side of the counter, struggling to not appear overly attentive to them. "Have a nice day…" She turned to leave only to find herself blocked by the human.

"You were following us!" the man accused.

Xenia cocked her eyebrows in her best impression of surprise. "What are you talking about?" The man glared suspiciously. She frowned back. "_Actually_, I've been grocery shopping, if it isn't obvious enough…" She brandished the box of fruit tarts and her sack of bread, meat, dairy, nuts, fruits and vegetables.

"Indeed," scoffed the human. Next to him, the hobbit watched her pensively. "_Well,_ then. Have a good afternoon." He beckoned to the lad beside him to follow departed the store.

Xenia considered pursuit but felt she'd be trying her luck now she'd been noticed. When she left and turned towards home, however, there was a delightful surprise. They were going the very direction in which she lived. Smiling triumphantly, the rogue casually followed.

Half a mile later, the human looked over his shoulder to see Xenia still there. He held up a hand and turned fully around. The hobbit youth followed suit. The hobbit-woman gulped but continued valiantly toward them. Let that man accuse her of following them! She would be telling the truth when she said she lived this way!

When she tried to pass them, however, the man impeded her. "You're still following us," he said succinctly.

"No. I live this way," snapped Xenia, unfastening her sack while trying to go around him.

"Do you, now?" He stepped sideways to block her again.

"_Yes_," Xenia said, adding the fruit tarts to her bag, "and I would_ like_ to get home, if you don't mind."

"Very well," said the human. "We shall _accompany _you." Xenia opened her mouth to protest but then closed it again. Voicing her thoughts would only confirm his suspicions. "Here, let me help you with that." The man indicated the sack slung over her back.

"It's okay… I've got it…" She tried to straighten but nearly dislodged the bag from her shoulder

"Are you sure?" he said skeptically.

"Well, if you_ insist_…"

She resignedly held out the sack. The man took it with one hand. The hobbit beside him was still staring. She wanted to ask what had him so transfixed but did not dare. All Xenia wanted was for these two to disregard her so she could learn more about what they had to do with Drémeadow without fear of vengeance or capture.

Xenia was able to shake off her sudden unwanted companions only by telling them she lived in a dilapidated shack two doors from her actual location of residence. She watched them enter another building on her road just four doors from her, but decided to follow would be pushing her good fortune too far. Xenia doubled back toward her own dwelling, wracking her brain for ways to find out more about the enigmatic pair.


	2. Traitors' Reunion

This feeling of apprehension was getting ridiculous.

Xenia had safely returned to her room and unloaded her groceries, but she could not shake the ominous sense that her encounter with the human and his hobbit friend portended ill news. Between those two and the Drémeadow orcs, not to mention the number of hobbits lately, she was beginning to wonder whether it was necessary to hit the road. It would only be a matter of time before someone recognized her as the fugitive princess even with her precautions. She could not shake the pensive stare of the wiry hobbit that accompanied the man from her mind. Had that youth realized who she was? Was that why the human insisted she accompany them? Were they bounty hunters? In league with one?

She was not about to sit waiting in fear. No, she, Xenia, would boldly go towards where she normally went to alleviate her fears- the Eye of the Bull Archery Range. She could release tension shooting targets while showing all eyes on her that she was a more formidable adversary than she looked. _Or you'll confirm who you are_; _it's no secret you shoot well, you were known for it even before you were royalty_, a sly voice teased. She tightened her jaw. Upper school, where she had forged a name for herself both in marks and points earned in archery tournaments, had ended ten years ago. Surely her disgrace had completely eradicated memories of her skill in archery?

She slung her quiver over her back and hung her shortbow over her shoulder, exiting the house. It would be a relief to let off steam and it would not do to allow herself to be trapped in her own home.

The archery range was just over a quarter mile from Xenia's home. Along her route, she caught sight of what first appeared to be a large ragged blanket hanging from a clothesline between two abandoned buildings. She was about to dismiss the sight when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning her head toward the movement, Xenia saw a piece of parchment affixed to the corner of the threadbare blanket. There seemed to be writing on it. She moved closer to read the words "Future Home of the Bolingbarke News Network."

Xenia cocked an eyebrow, staring disbelievingly. This was certainly a peculiar form of advertisement. Shaking her head and smirking slightly, the hobbit proceeded to follow the cobblestone road another two hundred feet before turning down the dirt alley that opened up into the archery range.

It was a quiet time of the day for the facility as most went . The only other people there were an elderly man who might as well build a home on the property for the amount of time he was here and a hobbit. A tall, lanky young hobbit a pinched look as though he had either recently seen a lack of food or, more likely, hit his growing spurt. A hobbit with a green cloak and grey hose tucked into battered boots. A hobbit with soft, thick golden-brown curls that spiraled several inches from his head up into the air, dark-brown eyes and a rather thin, delicate-looking face. If she was not very much mistaken, the hobbit from before. He was a decent archer, too- every attempt of his at least hit the target, and most were within the inner circle. A few feathered arrows had even found their way into the center.

Xenia was staring nearly half a minute before she caught herself. Blinking and shaking herself, she hastily moved to one of the positions by a target, dropped her quiver and bow on the sodden grass and commenced warming up her upper-body muscles. She was in the midst of stretching her triceps when she realized the other hobbit had noticed her. In fact, the kid was openly staring. He was loosely hanging his crossbow at his side. An emblem of red, brown and gold adorned the top of the bow just before where the string connected. It was the former Drémeadow crest.

_Just what I need… a Drémeadow official's attention_, she thought grimly. The lad looked slightly too young to be an official, let alone have the old emblem, but then again, the minimum age might have been lowered. It could also be that he had one of his parents' weapons, in which case she likely had nothing to worry about- unless he recognized her. Ought she to leave? No, it would look too strange that she had come to the archery range only to depart right after making eye contact.

Xenia raised both her eyebrows as high as they would go, fine lines on her forehead deepening. The lad looked from his bow to Xenia's, then back at her. Shrugging her shoulders, Xenia picked up her shortbow, intending to nock an arrow and shoot at the target a hundred feet away. The other hobbit, however, walked right up to her. Tensing slightly, Xenia relinquished her grip on her arrow.

"You look familiar," the adolescent said succinctly. Xenia's stomach plummeted.

"Do I, now?" Xenia replied tensely.

"You do."

Xenia remained silent. It seemed wisest to be as taciturn as she possibly could; talk would do more harm than good. He might lose interest if she spoke little.

"You look like someone I know," the younger hobbit continued.

"Oh?" Xenia laughed nervously. "Funny how that happens sometimes. I don't think I know you though…" She wasn't certain, however. Even though this boy looked quite different from anyone she had known, there was something very familiar about him. Perhaps, she thought, she had encountered him once a long time ago? He could be a guard's son, or a classmate's younger brother?

The lad elaborated, "you look like my sister who ran away."

This was getting very unsettling. After a brief silence, she said "do I, now?" for the second time in the most casual voice she could muster.

The kid whispered something under his breath. Xenia tilted her head, frowning slightly. He beckoned her closer. "Xenia?" he whispered uncertainly.

The blood drained from Xenia's face. She took two steps back, wanting to run- but her feet seemed rooted to the ground from sheer terror. She needed to flee, though, this kid might have reinforcements… after five years, she had felt safe, but it appeared she was safe no longer… she was cornered… she needed a way to escape… this was the closest someone in league with her homeland that was aware of her identity had gotten since that bounty hunter who'd trapped her in a pit in Spolingharrow. Xenia had been obliged to crawl through brambles and thorns; the alternative had been waiting for the profiteer to return with Spolingharrow law enforcement. At least, she thought, it wasn't an unpleasant choice between thorns or and a lovely combination of interrogation, imprisonment, extradition and whatever Drémeadow would have had in store.

Why was this kid so familiar, anyway?

"Xenia… it's okay. It's me."

She gawked at him. Just then, a recent memory floated to the surface of her mind. Now she knew where she had someone looking like this, though he'd looked haggard and battered in the sketch and there'd been dry blood staining his hair. Although the youth before did look thinner than he ought, he seemed otherwise healthy. However, there was no mistaking it, unbelievable that it was.

"_Folco?"_

He placed a skinny finger to his lip, nodding his confirmation- then threw his arms around his dumbfounded older sibling. Xenia returned the hug, ignoring the unpleasant sensation of pointed shoulder-blades poking into her arms. Folco was taller than she now by over an inch, she realized.

When the brother and sister finally broke apart, Xenia stammered out, "I… I can't believe this! Here! Of all places! You look older!"

Folco snickered. "Yes, well, big difference between fourteen and nineteen."

"_That's_ for sure! How are you _taller_ than me? I remember you being up to here!" She indicated her collarbone. "You were this pudgy little thing."

Folco scoffed, "I wasn't _pudgy_. It was baby fat!"

She grinned. This kid definitely seemed like how she remembered Folco all right! "How did you end up down here? Why do you have… what's going on?"

"Not here," Folco replied curtly, all merriment suddenly gone from his voice. "Come with me… will explain when we have more privacy…"

Swallowing hard, Xenia did as he said. Wanted poster against him notwithstanding, things must be grim in Drémeadow indeed if Folco was all the way in Simillior by himself- or with that human?

Xenia's youngest brother led her back to the very bakery in which he and the yet-unnamed paladin obscured by a golden cloak had first noticed her. The elf shopkeeper flashed a jovial smile before turning to Folco. "I knew you would be back. I see you've found a friend?"

"In a manner of speaking," he responded casually. "She's with me. The Waste of Dré shall fade away."

The elf fixed the older Foxtrot with a long, searching stare before stepping aside to permit the pair entry. When they crossed the threshold, the wooden door closed behind her and Xenia found herself facing a long, winding staircase leading underground into a cellar. A few steps down, Xenia stopped under the guise of studying the dusty walls. Her brother did the same once he'd noticed her footfalls had ceased, then walked back up to meet her.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

Xenia sighed lightly. "I am, it's just… ah... I can't believe given the size of the world we just happened to run into each other in Dolingdarrow…" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you and others tracking me or something?"

Folco looked as though she'd slapped him. Xenia felt a sudden twinge of shame. Considering he too was a wanted criminal in the eyes of Drémeadow, she supposed her accusation was over-cautious and perhaps a bit harsh.

"I suppose I understand why you might think that… but you are no prisoner, I give you my word. I merely wanted to introduce you to someone… I just don't want to say too much, you know?"

"Understood…" Xenia said, recommencing her descent.

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, which opened up into a very cramped room, Xenia's mouth opened slightly. There were about a dozen hobbits, several of whom were children. They looked, for the most part, as though they'd seen better days. There was also a few elves, a strange creature about the height of a dwarf whose race she could not place- he certainly was no dwarf and looked more a hobbit or elf than anything else, only not quite- a bespectacled human girl who looked to be in her early-to-mid twenties… and the man in gold from before. He'd doffed his head, revealing a handsome, clean-shaven olive-skinned face suggesting he was around her age, tidy chestnut hair brushing his broad shoulders in waves, and soft brown eyes that looked at the same time kindly and commanding. An emblem of his god Heironeus adorned his chest. The man from the Drémeadow Wanted posters. The man who had apparently killed her mother. What was Folco doing with _him_?

Seeing the look of recognition, Folco stepped between the two, gesturing to the paladin with a sweep of his hand. "Here's the man who murdered Mother," he said. Sarcasm rang clear as the bells of the cathedral at the pinnacle of the highest hill in Dolingdarrow. An uncertain look came into his slightly pinched face. "You… didn't believe the Wanted posters at all, did you?"

"No!" she replied too quickly. Folco raised an eyebrow. "Well, not about you anyway, I know you would never… but… what the plague is going on?!"

The prince's eyes shut briefly. "Drémeadow's… changed. For the worse. Let's just say you left at a very good time."

"Aye, well, Father and I never exactly got on well, not for a very long time." Folco would certainly know that to be painfully true; she and their father had been constantly at odds since before Folco was old enough to remember. "The funny thing is, I was thinking of going back and apologizing. I was really angry, but I was thinking I did not want to leave forever… but then I found out he had people _chasing_ me. Like I'd killed someone and not simply lost my head after that really bad argument… I'm sure you remember that."

"How could I forget?" Folco said in a small voice. He had been around when their father had been angry enough to throw Xenia into one of the palace closets and lock her in. He'd regained control of his temper and let her out shortly after and Xenia had stormed up to her bedchamber and locked herself in. Her last conversation with her youngest sibling had been through the door with her refusing to permit him entry.

"Right… well, I got scared."

Folco looked away. "I would, too, if I were being chased by our family's own guards."

"Yes, well, I don't know why he had to be such a…" Xenia cut herself short. Folco, and the rest of her siblings and her mother, had been forced into the middle of far too much rancor as it was.

"Such a what?"

"Never mind… I know you never liked it when we had our fights, I won't put you…"

Folco cut her off with an emphatic hand flourish. "Yes. Well. It's hard not to fight someone who's become a tyrant."

Xenia stared. She herself had privately called her father that when she felt he was being too strict or overstepping what was acceptable in dealings with an adult child, but to hear Folco say it like that, in regards of how he conducted his reign… that was a much more serious accusation. "Really? You're kidding."

"I wish," the prince said bitterly. "I've seen a_ lot _of … well, the Rebellion will put a stop to him." He crossed his arms, scowling. _Anyway._"

Gawking at the adolescent, Xenia said, "You know, you're starting to sound alarmingly like me." She jammed her hands into the pocket of her loose brown pants and stared thoughtfully past him to the brick wall. "I suppose he was right about me being a bad influence." She smiled crookedly. "Anyhow, I still don't understand. What's happened? Why is there a Wanted poster for you and your friend- Kiran Mani, I presume?" She shifted her eyes to the paladin.

Kiran Mani confirmed himself with a nod. "Yes. Kiran Mani, Constable of Northchester." He inclined his head her way. "I am afraid I am rather the catalyst of everything that has happened in the last few months. You see, I was visiting Drémeadow at the end of December as an envoy- the Duke of Northchester sent me. Duke Ivan, he's one of the Benoits- am I correct in assuming you are acquainted with the Cancalian royal family?" Xenia nodded. She and her older sister Nora had accompanied their father to Southchester, Cancalia's capital, in the second month of her father's reign. "Anyhow, your father invited me to stay through the New Years' celebrations. Naturally, I accepted his invitation, and the visit was going very well… until the Pre-New Year's Banquet."

Behind Kiran, Folco's jaw was clenched. At the mention of the feast, his scowl deepened. Clearly, whatever had led to her brother and the paladin being marked as criminals had occurred at that feast. "What happened on New Years'?" Xenia asked apprehensively.

"The Queen was murdered, and I was accused. I protested my innocence, since with Heironeus as my witness I did not have anything to do with the assassination, but even with evidence given as my favor I was made the scapegoat and banished from Drémeadow."

"And Folco thought you were innocent?" Xenia asked evenly, looking past the paladin to her brother.

"More than thought. Knew," corrected Kiran.

Her brother bobbed his head emphatically. "He was with me and Lin-", his voice broke, "and my friend all afternoon, and then when I had to get ready for the blanket Kiran stayed with him and his family." Folco seemed distressed for some reason, perhaps from the agony of remembering the night their mother had been killed. His voice pitch had gotten progressively higher and his eyes looked suddenly shiny. Kiran rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm guessing you told Father this?" Xenia said, comprehension dawning. Had Folco been vilified by means of the posters simply for defending the paladin?

"I did."

"And he didn't listen?"

"Obviously not," her brother spat bitterly.

"_Is that why you have a price on your head?" _Xenia squeaked incredulously. King Hrothgar had truly outdone himself in absurdity with his children if that were the case. She'd thought she'd had it bad when he had continually thrown barbs at her for being thrown out of her university and called her a waste of intelligence, talent, money and time!

"Not exactly… well, yes, he was extremely angry because I stuck up for Kiran, but the main reason is because I got away, I'm guessing."

"Got away?"

Folco paled slightly. He started to attempt to elaborate, but fell silent after a few unintelligible words, looking suddenly much less composed than usual. Kiran squeezed his shoulder. "He landed in a spot of trouble just outside of Drémeadow; I found out where he'd been taken and helped him get away, as did Nont'im," the paladin explained. "That is Nont'im, by the way." He gesticulated towards the peculiar flaxen-haired creature that looked a mix of elf and hobbit. She had to admit that he was rather handsome once one got past the peculiar hybrid nature of what looked to be a priest, or perhaps a devoutly religious healer.

"Pleasure to meet you, milady," Nont'im said graciously. "Or do you prefer being called Your-"

"Just Xenia is fine, thank you," the princess said quickly. She had not used any of her titles in half a decade, so they certainly were not necessary too. It was obvious Kiran and the creature Nont'im were on familiar terms with her brother anyhow. That was more than good enough for her. Nont'im smiled, then withdrew so she, Folco and Kiran might continue their discussion.

"So now you've all ended up here. Forgive me for asking," she glanced at her younger sibling, "but how did our mother die?"

Folco responded, "It's your right to ask! She was poisoned. Someone tampered with her wine. Kiran's nothing more than a scapegoat."

"That must have been hard on him… on both of you," Xenia said quietly.

Kiran put in, "Yes, but that does not stop me from wanting to do right by your land and the rest of that world. Drémeadow is in very big trouble, and particularly since I have an unintended hand in everything going on, I wish to do everything in my power to rectify matters, and my lord has been most generous and understanding. I have been sending some of my people in Northchester to investigate both neighboring lands, Drémeadow itself, and areas that are heavily traveled this time of year. However, I'll leave that report to my spy."

The corpulent girl with spectacles stepped forward. "Lucia Finch," she said, sweeping her wispy fringe out of her dark brown eyes. "I've been in Bolingbarke, Cancalia for the past month and a half dealing with both the affairs of that city and learning the gossip swapped by travelers. That city has two universities, the Magic School and Bolingbarke University, and,"

"Nora went there," Xenia interposed. Lucia snapped her mouth shut, looking faintly annoyed. "Sorry to jump in, but I remember both those names."

"Right," remarked the russet-haired, adjusting her spectacles. "Anyway, as I'm sure you're aware, March is a heavy travel time anywhere near a university since that is when pupils return home for the planting season. I frequented Bolingbarke's inns- hardly unusual, students go to them a lot to learn news from other places. Besides, I went with my friends at B.U. Anyhow, Dremeadow has been isolating itself. It recently withdrew from the ITF." The Intracontinental Trade Federation, Xenia knew, was the mercantile alliance between most of the lands on the continent.

Xenia stared, flabbergasted. "_Withdrew from the ITF?_" she echoed. "But… we always profited from it! We've always exported much more than we imported! Why would we _want_ to sever trade? How is that supposed to benefit Drémeadow? What is he thinking?"

She glanced at her brother, who shrugged his shoulders. "You've got me," Folco said. "I'm as baffled as you on that one."

Lucia brushed more stray wisps of hair from her face. "Well, so is the whole world. The Drémeadow monarchy has become a topic of discussion in many places as of late. There are those expressing the opinion in taverns that Drémeadow's king is wholly out of his reckoning- no offense to you two." Xenia shrugged her shoulders, privately agreeing, and Folco's face remained deadpan. The young Cancalian woman wrung her hands together. "Anyhow, Your High, ah, Xenia, those guards that were chasing Kiran and Folco were not the only orc guards Drémeadow has. In fact, they've a great many now."

Xenia's mouth formed a perfect O. She could not believe what she was hearing. She could not believe that her father would stoop to such measures. She could not believe that the hobbits back at the place from whence she'd came were accepting of it. "Since when?"

This time it was Folco who spoke. "A few months."

"What is he _thinking?_ Where did he get such a mad idea?"

"From one of his advisors."

Xenia squawked, "_Really?_ I don't remember any of them being off their rocker… at least, not enough to result in _orcs."_

Xenia heard indistinct mumbling from her youngest sibling's direction. Frowning, she shook her head at him. "There are different advisors than the ones you remember," Folco reiterated, "and one of them gave him the idea." His expression grew unfathomable. "An elf."

` "Hold on…" Xenia adjusted the straps on her pack, "are you telling me he's got people who aren't hobbits, then?"

"Indeed," confirmed Folco. "In theory, it's a very utilitarian idea, and there's no denying we aren't exactly used to being a monarchy… much more accustomed to things than the first year _especially_," he grimaced at the memory while Xenia stirred uncomfortably; she'd only been there the first few months, "but we aren't exactly even the Spivaks of Gloomf let alone Cancalia's Benoits, we _definitely_ needed the help. Our kind among the advisors don't know any more than our family does when it comes to the nuances of running a whole kingdom… but some of these more recent ones, just, _oi._" Folco wrinkled his nose in distaste. "And… I'd always been a little leery of some of them… not that Father would ever take_my _feelings and opinions into account, of course. You know how he's always been even before becoming well… as _unreasonable_ as he is."

Xenia gave a hollow laugh. That was the kindest adjective she thought possible for a tyrant. "Because he's 32 years older… well, _42_ for you, he automatically knows best no matter what and he's always right, even and especially when he's wrong? _Yeah._" She could think of a plethora of incidents and disputes between her father and herself where he most certainly _had_ been at least partly wrong or at fault, although orcs would be paladins, champions of benevolence, justice, altruism and law before he ever admitted to such a thing. She wanted to comment more about that being one of the root causes of her being pushed to the point of fleeing Drémeadow but preferred not doing so in the presence of others. "So at least one of the advisors wasn't exactly looking out for our best interests, for _Drémeadow's _best interests. Orcs? And _what_ façade of logic convinced him to accept that idea?"

Folco shook his head. "Something about us needing protection from larger races." He snorted, face darkening. . "Absurd. Anyway, long story short, Mother was poisoned, Kiran was blamed, I got in heaps of trouble for defending Kiran, never mind that both I AND my friend, who I trusted… _trust_ with my life said it couldn't be him… oh, and dozens of others just in the _original _group were forced to leave their homes behind. _And_ apparently there have been others forced out of their homes since then. People who question whether Kiran is indeed guilty- _which he isn't!_"

"Original group?" repeated Xenia.

Folco shivered. "From the feast. Father… there's no easy way to put this… ordered an attack on people trying to get him to hear Kiran out." His eyes closed as though in pain. "We got away though, thanks to Kiran, he and Nont'im helped us get out, we ended up in Cancalia staying with the Cancalian king's brother, some other things happened… and, well, eventually some of us ended up in Simillior to seek and contact people who left after us and others affected by what's been going on in Drémeadow… you'll hear more later… but there's the basics."

Xenia's heart was racing. She jammed her hands into her pockets. This was truly very painful to listen to.

"Do you wish to help us?" Kiran asked her. Seeing Xenia's frown, he hastily added, "or, of course, would you like time to think about it? I know this must be quite a lot for you to hear at once."

"I need time to think," she responded immediately, biting her lip.

Folco put in hopefully, "you're still welcome to stay with us so long as we are here and listen to everything happening." He managed a smile. "We know you're no enemy of ours, and I certainly know I can trust you."

Xenia smiled back at her little brother, no longer so little. He was taller than her, let alone the actual little children there, who were playing with Nont'im and a very strange ball. Nont'im had just thrown an iridescent ball the size of an orange at the wall. Instead of ricocheting off and back into the room, it seemed to pass _through_ the wall. Xenia thought it had disappeared into nothing, but then one of the girls squealed, "Heads up, Meimi!" Another girl, so diminutive compared to Kiran that she only came up to his kneecap, squeaked and ducked giggling just in time to avoid being clocked in the head. One of the boys, who had apparently managed to get on top of a chair without anyone noticing, jumped off as the ball came his way, clearly intending to knock it down with his own weight. He missed- and landed in a heap on the ground.

Xenia cringed, immediately moving towards the child. To her relief, he was immediately on his feet. "I'm all right!" he laughed upon seeing the worried look on her face, brushing some of the dust off his clothes. "That ball's too fast!"

"Good," she said, then gently chastising, "please be careful, this is a small room, don't want anyone getting hurt, _especially_ not from jumping off furniture. And there's people much bigger than even me in this room; you don't want them tripping over you." Meanwhile, Nont'im caught the ball and passed it to the lad who had attempted to pin-dive it. He threw it to the floor as though to bounce it. Instead, the ball vanished through the floorboards, re-emerging from the ceiling and continuing in the trajectory back to and into the floor.

Folco chortled beside Xenia. "One of the wizard's creations. I'm not certain if he'll be here before we leave, but if he is then you'll meet him." The prince's thin face sobered up. "So will you at least stay?"

Xenia nodded. "All right. I will need to get things I need though… either way, I know I ought to disappear from here if there are Dremeadow guards coming to this area before ones that aren't such dolts as those orcs from earlier spot me. Gotta sort out my last rent payment, furniture I don't want and other such fun."

"I'll come with you to help carry things," Folco offered. Several of the children chimed in that they would as well. Her brother looked crestfallen for some unfathomable reason.

"Very well," Xenia said with a smile. "Let's get cracking, on, follow me!" With a departing wave to Kiran, who mouthed "be careful," she led the younger hobbits up the stairs.


	3. Traitor Troubles

The children that accompanied the Foxtrot siblings to the house where Xenia rented out a room proved to be surprisingly helpful. Xenia had expected them to be a bit of a hindrance but they were quite good about putting everything in the right place- the very few clothes Xenia decided was practical to bring along in one pile, the clothes she would arrange to be donated to an orphanage for girls in another. The food was quickly removed from the larder. Some, namely what would spoil if left unpreserved and unprotected from the elements too long, was left for Xenia and Folco to eat- she'd already invited her brother to help himself- while she got her affairs in order, but the rest she sent with the children back to the pastry shop in which their cramped hideout was concealed.

"Here, bring this food to where we came from," Xenia said, giving each of the children one of the sacks into which the food had been sorted. Beside her, Folco was chomping on a carrot. "After that, would you mind bringing those clothes," she pointed to the ones that were unfeasible for long journeys, "to Saint Yuri's Home for Girls- do you know where that is?" They shook their heads no. She located a piece of spare parchment and drew a map for them to follow, handing it to the child who seemed to have the best head for maps, an erudite girl of nine. Once the children left with the food and the instructions to return for the clothes.

Ten minutes later, just as Xenia was finished deciding that all of the furniture could stay as could most of her bedding and Folco was polishing off her cheese, there was a knock. "Back already?" Xenia said as she answered, surprised by how fast the young hobbits had returned. She wondered whether one of them had forgotten something. It was not hobbit youngsters though, but Kiran.

"I thought I might give you two a hand," he said as he stepped inside and wiped his feet on the elf's doormat. Folco tossed the parchment that had covered her cheese into the rubbish bin, picked up a banana and began to eat that. "Do I need to take my shoes off?" Xenia shook her head no. "Excellent. What else have we got here?"

"Just furniture- but that's all staying. I just need to double-check some things." One of those things was dishes- she'd need to wash whatever he produced. Two of those things, she knew, would be a knife and a plate considering he was currently smearing jam all over bread he'd broken off for himself. Xenia stared at him. "You eat a lot."

"But it's so good!" Folco declared, biting off a corner of jam-covered bread and wiping the sticky fingers of his left hand against his trousers.

Xenia smiled, shaking her head. "And to think that one was chubby when last I remember him," she commented. "Teenage lads… oy."

"I wasn't chubby!" Folco protested, mouth full of bread. Had they still been in contact with their parents rather than one dead and one turned crazed, and they'd seen Folco doing what he was doing now, he'd be on the receiving end of a long lecture on eating in a civilized manner.

"Well, you weren't this lanky little thing you are now, I seem to remember chub here," she indicated her stomach, "and here," she pressed her hands against her cheeks, "and here." She gripped her arms. Kiran, for some reason, looked ill at ease.

Folco made a face, actually pausing from his feeding frenzy. "It was baby fat! And I'm not little, I'll have you know i'm _taller_ than you if you haven't noticed."

"Sure. If you say so." Either way, you weren't this gangling fellow."

Folco shrugged. "Well, I suppose I am thin, wasn't fed much. I think I've gained most of it back, though, right?" He looked at Kiran, who nodded.

Xenia stared between the two, thoroughly mystified. Folco suddenly had an expression redolent of a cornered beast. "When he was imprisoned," Kiran said.

Openmouthed, Xenia exclaimed, "Folco? In _prison?_" Her brother nodded sullenly. She could not say which came as more of a shock, his apparently not being fed enough or the fact he'd even been put in the lock-ups to begin with. "Oi, and everyone thought _I_would be the family member in there at some point. Though," she laughed, "do have that oh-so-lovely Wanted poster of me."

The paladin gave a small nod. "That is correct; we were able to get him out though. And yes, your brother thought you looked familiar even without that painting of you.

She grinned slightly at Kiran. "Congratulations on being the first person I've ever seen _smiling_ in one, by the way."

"I doubt he even knows_how_ to be in a mug sketch," remarked her younger brother.

Xenia smirked. "And then you have me- honestly, they couldn't have a worse one of me if they tried, couldn't be any more obvious I never slept much at that time- bad enough my dark circles got that bad without a painting to _prove_ it."

"At least you weren't being tortured in yours," said Folco in such a matter-of-fact voice that it took Xenia several seconds to realize what he had just said. Then she remembered the battered and bruised hobbit depicted in the anted poster and suddenly felt silly, foolish, and most of all self-centered in insensitive.

As she stared at him, a shadow seemed to fall across her younger brother's face. "Folco…" she said, unsure of what to say, her voice a slightly higher pitch than usual.

He looked her directly in the eye. "I'd _really_rather not talk about it," he said succinctly.

"Folco, I'm sorry…"

"Not your fault." As she continued to gape at him, he snapped, "just leave it, okay?"

"As you wish…" Xenia said, taken aback by the Behind him, Kiran shrugged his shoulders, casting Xenia an unfathomable look. Just then, the sound of the door opening broke the tension. The elf had returned. Folco, looking immensely relieved, recommenced picking his way through Xenia's food.

"Hello," he said, looking around the room in surprise. Xenia could not blame him; she could not recall the last time she had visitors other than people dropping off orders of laundry, groceries and other such items. The elf seemed to have no family or friends either, so anyone in here other than Xenia or him was a highly unusual situation. "Will you no longer need to use the kitchen then?"

Xenia laughed; the elf knew her hobbity habits much too well. The kitchen, not the sitting room or even the very room in which she slept, _would_ be the best thing to ask a hobbit about. "No. By the way, I have my last month's payment." She handed over the moneybag.

"Thank you, young ma'am," the elf said.

Xenia gestured towards the furniture. "I don't need this stuff anymore either. I'd just be throwing it out- unless you want to keep it or sell it or something?"

"Of course. I'm sure I can find a use for it. There are people with children, or I could end up with another halfling or a gnome as a tenant."

Xenia snapped her fingers. "Excellent. Then it's settled- do I have the right amount there?"

The elf rifled through the gold coins, counting. He extricated one and held it out. "You left an extra in there."

"Oh, I know, that's for dealing with the furniture for me."

He smiled. "Well thank you, young ma'am. Please feel free to stop by if you're in the area again."

"I shall, thank you. We should be out soon."

"No hurry, no hurry, take as long as you need," said the elf before retiring to his room.

Kiran smiled down at Xenia. "You're a very honorable person, you know that? Now I'm even more sure you'd be an excellent addition to what your brother, I and others are doing for Drémeadow, if you consented to it."

Xenia stared in confusion. That was not usually the sort of thing people said to her; they by far more often said exactly the opposite. What made Kiran say that? "Er, thanks," she said.

"Really. I mean it. Are you two ready to go? We should get you settled in where we are."

Xenia took her final look around before taking leave of the elf's abode, the last time she would ever lay eyes upon it.


End file.
